


Tenth Coach

by twistedchick



Category: Nine Coaches Waiting - Mary Stewart
Genre: F/M, Happily Ever After, attempted revenge, chapter-after-the-last-one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 20:15:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12942945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedchick/pseuds/twistedchick
Summary: After Leon de Valmy's funeral, there is still some danger as Linda and Raoul and Philippe plan to remake their lives.





	Tenth Coach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harborshore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harborshore/gifts).



First came Leon de Valmy’s funeral; it could hardly be ignored, marking the end of one way of life and the beginning of another for so many of us.

There had been no police inquiry that would have delved into family business; Leon’s suicide note had clearly described two failed attempts on Philippe’s life, Bernard’s attempt at blackmail and Leon’s own reasons for choosing death. The ruling of suicide had been unchallenged, and unsurprising.

The day before the funeral, I found Philippe digging through the drawers of clothes that had been brought to the Villa Mirielle for him. He looked up as I came into the room. “What will I wear tomorrow, to the funeral?”

“You don’t have to go, Philippe,” I said, sitting on the edge of his bed. He had turned the contents of two drawers upside down. "It should not take long. You can stay here and have lunch with us when we return."

“But I do have to go, Mademoiselle,” he said. As he straightened up he was shaking, just a bit. “I have to see for myself that he is dead.” He pulled himself together, visibly. “You understand, don’t you?” 

Between the last few horrible days and his fears and nightmares in the preceding months, I could see how right he was. It was imperative that he know that the man who had tried several times to kill him was now unable to reach him or harm him for the rest of his life. Only then would he be able to leave behind those shadows that had touched us both.

I nodded slowly. “You’re right. _C’est necessaire._ I will make sure that your uncle Hippolyte knows that you will come with us.”

“Thank you.” He almost smiled, the tightness in his shoulders beginning to relax. “But what should I wear?” 

All of his clothing from Valmy had been brought to the Villa Mirielle, where we now were, but in the haste to transfer us to mental as well as physical safety they had been thrown into drawers and thrust into closets without regard to order. At some point Jeanne, the single upstairs maid who oversaw all the bedrooms and closets for Hippolyte, would arrange them by size and color or in some other way, but that had not happened yet.

I knew that Philippe had not been allowed to attend his parents’ funeral a year ago, after their death in a plane crash; he had probably never attended or even seen a funeral. And he had no idea what would be considered proper to wear, other than that it probably should not include swimming trunks.

“Let us look at the closet, my poppet. A good dark suit, if you have one.” Several suits sized for a child hung there, but a couple appeared too small. He had begun to shoot up in the last few weeks; I hoped the largest one, a dark blue wool gabardine, would still fit. The weather was not too warm for it yet, and he could take off the jacket as soon as possible if he felt overheated. “Try on the trousers for this one, please, and then the jacket. Keep the shirt you have on, for now.”

I turned my back to allow him a little privacy, and turned back when he said he was ready. The legs were just a little short, but had hems that could be let down quickly. His shoulders were still a child’s, narrow, so the jacket fitted, and there was a white shirt to go with it. “I think you’ll do. Change back and give me the trousers, and I’ll lengthen them for you.” He did so, and then, upon request, shoved everything else back into the drawers.

A day ago, I had asked Gaston, Hippolyte’s butler, if there was a sewing machine that I could use to make minor repairs, and he had shown me the one that Jeanne used, in an anteroom near the grand closets for household linens, curtains, tablecloths and so on. His eyebrows had risen slightly at my request, but when I told him that I enjoyed sewing and might, perhaps, need something to take my mind off some of what had happened, he nodded and smiled and wished me well.

So it was to this more utilitarian room in the midst of the villa’s luxurious amenities that I brought the trousers, rather than sending them out to the village tailor. I needed to do something to stop thinking about the image of Leon de Valmy sprawled dead on his elegant floor, and keeping my hands busy with cloth and thread was a good remedy. Philippe sat down near me on a sturdy hassock that probably had doubled for decades as a posing stand, to help whoever was shortening or lengthening hems. He was playing with a puzzle that Raoul had given him, turning it over and over in his hands, looking for the way to open the box and find the prize.

I ripped the hems carefully and matched the color to one of the spools of thread in the sewing machine's lower drawer, which contained a virtual rainbow of colors in varying types of thread. It was a slightly darker blue, but the nearest match; it would not show up against the good cloth. Philippe watched me fill a bobbin on the machine and fix it into place. With pins from the puffy strawberry pincushion on the machine, I turned up a small hem and begin sewing.

“I am glad you will be with me. You saved me.” He nodded in the direction of the hills we’d climbed over, in our long night flight from Valmy.

“We saved each other,” I told him, and smiled. “And Raoul and your uncle Hippolyte saved us both.”

“That is true.” Philippe watched intently as I put the machine in reverse at the inside of the leg to lock the stitches. “And you are going to marry my cousin Raoul?”

“Yes, I am,”

“How does one get married?”

“One goes to the town hall and has a small ceremony, after having a visit with a doctor or two to be certain one is not ill.”

“Oh, you are very well. It should not be a problem.”

I had finished pinning the second leg, and began to sew it. “No, it shouldn’t.”

“And then…” He looked at me a little hesitantly. “I will be living with Uncle Hippolyte?”

“After we get back from our honeymoon, you can live with us if you want. Would you like that?”

The touch of stiffness melted from his shoulders. “I would like that very much.” Another pause. “What should I call you?”

“You could call me Linda, if you want.” 

Philippe said it a few times, trying it out, and nodded.

“Here, _mon petit_ , try them on again and see if I need to do more work.” I handed him the trousers and he ducked behind the dressing screen.

“So, this is where you are hiding,” Raoul said. I had not heard him arrive, but there he was, leaning his broad shoulders against the door frame and smiling at me. He was casual today, in a lightweight blue cabled sweater and trousers, “Cinderella does not need to sew her own gown any more, you know. We do have a tailor.”

“I know,” I said, smiling back at him, “but it is nothing, five minutes work, and it’s is for Philippe.” Philippe bounced back out from behind the dressing screen.

“ _Bonjour, mon cousin_ ,” Raoul said.

“ _Bonjour!_ And I should stand on this, right?” Philippe hopped up onto the hassock, but kept leaning over to see how his trousers looked.

“Stand straight, please, so I can see if they are even.”

He held still a moment, long enough for me to see that I had done a decent job, if fast. Only the former hems needed ironing out. Had we still been at Valmy, I would have handed them to Berthe, and she would have seen to it. But Berthe had not come with us to the Villa Mirielle. Emotionally crushed by having to talk to the gendarmes about Bernard’s murderous behavior, she had gone back to live with her mother, and, by report, had broken her engagement to Bernard. Bernard had gone into hiding; it was reasonable to assume that he had crossed into nearby Switzerland and then, perhaps, gone further away, since he had not been seen locally since Leon’s death.

“It looks very good,” I said.

“I agree,” Raoul said. 

“Take them off now, please, Philippe, and put on your other clothes, and then would you please take the trousers to Jeanne or whoever does the pressing here?”

“I think it’s Chloe. She comes in a couple of times a week, and I saw her in the kitchen. I’ll ask her,” Philippe said, from behind the screen. He changed into his everyday pants again, grabbed the trousers and ducked past Raoul to run down the hallway.

“It’s good to see him run. Why the trousers?”

“He is coming to the funeral, to make sure his uncle is dead.” I did not think I needed to say anything more, not to Raoul.

Raoul drew a breath, and let it out slowly. “Yes. I will explain to Hippolyte.”

“I’m glad you understand.” I did not add that Philippe’s reason for going was much the same as my own, to make sure that our future would be safe from any further attempts on our lives. But Raoul knew that already.

He straightened and took my hands, leading me away from the sewing machine. “I came up to take you to lunch in the village, and perhaps some shopping, and the first required doctor visit.”

“Let me tell Philippe when he is back, and then we’ll go.”

He gathered me into his arms. “You are not planning to sew your wedding gown, are you?”

I caught my breath. “I hadn’t even thought about it.”

“Then don’t,” he said. He kissed me softly. “Monsieur Florimond is bringing some for you to try on tomorrow, and you may choose whichever you like as a wedding present. It was his idea, when I phoned him to tell him we were to be married.”

Something softened in me at the thought of Florimond coming here, and then coming to the wedding. I had wanted to have a friend there, but hesitated at the thought of inviting William Blake, whose feelings for me I had found to be far deeper than mine for him. But Florimond, the generous and kind guest at Valmy who had taken time to talk with me and who had offered me sanctuary in Paris should I need it, would be more than welcome.

“It’s very kind of him. Would you mind if I asked him to stand up with me, or be my witness?”

“I think he’d be honored. And you, my love, will be the envy of every woman in France, wearing an exclusive handmade Florimond gown to your wedding.”

***

The visit to the doctor in Soubirous was perfunctory; a blood test, a few questions about my medical history. The doctor, whom I had never met before, was brisk but kind, in the manner of physicians who have too many patients and too little time. I was pleased to see that the receptionist’s and the nurse’s manner toward me were also kind and professional. Either Albertine’s gossip of the past week had not reached them, or the later news of Leon’s suicide and its accompanying note had made the rounds, freeing me from suspicion of anything except taking good care to keep a child alive.

They would phone with the results of the tests; if necessary, a second visit could be scheduled. I thanked them, went to the waiting room to meet Raoul, who had met with another doctor in the same practice, in a different room, and we went to lunch. 

The doctor had not asked about my sexual experience, but hinted around the edges enough for me to assure him that no, I was not concerned about what would happen, and yes, I understood how it worked. I was grateful that my small sexual past life was not to be discussed in more detail than that. A couple of turns in the loft bedroom of a handsome gardener, who had been kind and gentle a few years earlier, had done me no harm. And I looked forward to sharing a bed with Raoul, and together creating our home.

***

Only Hippolyte, Raoul, and I stood by the grave — and Philippe, his hand in mine. Heloise was already in a sanitarium in Provence, her health shattered. For myself, I was grateful not to see her there, not to have to deal with her or to shield Philippe from her.

“I should have known,” Hippolyte said to me afterward, when we were back in the study at the Villa Mirielle, warming ourselves at the fire. “He was my brother, but I knew him. Everything always had to be for him, for Valmy. I should have been here.” He had waited to speak until Gaston had come and taken Philippe to lunch in the kitchen.

“You came back, uncle. In the end, that’s what matters.” Raoul handed me a Benedictine, and sat down next to me on the sofa with his own drink. “And you will be here, what, a month, two?”

“Six months, if need be, perhaps more. I have arranged for my assistant to take over the work. I can do cataloguing from here, through the mails, and it is always possible to do background research in the libraries of the University of Paris, or the Sorbonne.”

“Philippe will love having you here,” I said. “He has missed you very much.”

Raoul smiled. “Then you will be here until we come back from our honeymoon. We’d like Philippe to live with us, at Bellevigne, if that can be arranged. He has said he would like it.” 

“Of course. Where will you go?”

I blinked. “I haven’t had time to think of it.” 

Raoul smiled at me. “We can go anywhere.”

Outside the window it was drizzling, with a chilly mist. A vision rose in my mind of sun-bathed islands. “Greece? Italy?”

“Certainly. And several other places as well, if you wish. We’ll take a month, six weeks perhaps.”

“In that time,” Hippolyte said, “I will arrange for you both to share custody of Philippe.”

“Oh, yes, please,” I said. “Let me know what I have to sign.”

“We should be able to take care of the paperwork over the next few days. And I think you may have enough to do.”

***

I had never seen the need for a large wedding, and had never considered it likely, since my parents had died and I had no other relatives. And Raoul simply wanted us to be together, as soon as possible. So did I, truth be told. Ten days was long enough for me to become used to the uncommon notions that I had a future, that it would be happy, and that I would no longer be alone.

Monsieur Florimond swept down from Paris a day later, bringing with him Fleur, his assistant, a woman of absolute chic with the upright posture and style of a prima ballerina, and a dozen gowns, any one of which would have made the plainest woman on earth look like a queen.

“ _De rien._. I am so deeply honored that you chose me to stand with you.” He waited as Fleur threw a gown over my head and fastened it in the back. “If none of these is to your taste, there are others I can summon with a phone call.” He sat back in his chair and observed me, his smile warm. “I think one of them will suit you, though.”

Although Hippolyte had not married, the villa had been built with a suite of rooms for its mistress; these had been in holland covers, but now had been opened up so that we could use them as needed. Here, Florimond sat on a comfortable tufted sofa, as I stepped from behind the painted 18th Century folding screen that approximated a dressing room. 

The dress was fitted at the bodice, sleeves off the shoulder and small, just sweeping the arms lightly. The skirt was re-embroidered silk with just enough backing to allow it to flare out a bit and flow.

“It’s wonderful,” I said. I turned slowly in front of the triple mirrors. “You are very kind.”

Florimond’s eyebrows drew together. “I am not certain about this one. There is something about the waist… Fleur, what do you see?”

“You’re right. It does not fit properly. Mademoiselle’s waist is longer than the dress allows for.” Fleur turned to me. “This is not a fault, you understand. It simply means we find a different style.”

I went back behind the screen, to be unzipped and unbuttoned and have that dress whisked away, only to have another one dropped over my head almost before I could breathe.

“How will you wear your hair?” Fleur asked.

“I hadn’t thought about it,” I admitted as she fastened and tweaked. “Down, I think. It’s fairly straight; it won’t stay up well.”

“Down will be fine with this dress, but worn behind the shoulders.” She moved my hair, and I walked out from behind the screen again. “The waist on this will be better, I think.”

The dress reflected a style from a few years earlier, the luxury that had bloomed after the war, after the end of rationing and scrimping. It had a slightly dropped waist, and gathers over the hips that allowed the full skirt to fall softly to the floor and float behind in a small train. The bodice appeared form-fitting but magically still enabled me to breathe; a drift of lace floated across the top and around the arms to serve as sleeves below bare shoulders. Tiny flowers were embroidered on the skirt in silk satin thread, white on white.

“Yes, this is it, I think.” Florimond nodded critically. _”Tres belle.”_

I was wordless. This was so far from black bombazine that I had to remind myself it was reality. Jane Eyre never wore anything this beautiful.

“All you need is a coronet,” said a voice from the doorway, which of course was Raoul. “There should be one somewhere at Valmy that belonged to my mother. I’ll look for it.”

“What about not seeing the bride in her glory until the wedding day?” Fleur asked, raising an eyebrow at him; a woman who had pinned royalty into gowns by Florimond need not be in awe of anyone.

Raoul bowed ironically to her. “We’ve already had the bad luck, I think. And she’s not in the shoes or jewelry. I think we’re safe.”

I didn’t need to ask what he thought of the dress; it was in his eyes.

It was Florimond who said, “Raoul, be useful, if you please, and go away; we’re not done here yet.”

“All right.” My lover smiled at me. “I have a few errands; I’ll be back later.” He leaned in to kiss me and left.

“Ah, there are the stars in her eyes,” Fleur said, smiling. “Oh! There is the tiniest bit here that needs to be stitched, see, where this small fold did not tuck properly. I will take care of it before the day. What height of heel will you wear? Never mind. Let me get out the shoes for you to choose from.” She busied herself with a box I had not noticed, and brought out half a dozen pairs of varying heights, in my size. I was no longer surprised that Florimond would know my size; he missed nothing. Together, Fleur and I found a pair with low heels, simple but a good match to the gown, and she had me stand on a small stool so she could adjust the hem precisely.

Florimond reached behind himself to open a window, and lit a small cigar. “You will be a beautiful bride, mademoiselle. But, you know, had events turned out otherwise, I would have welcomed you in Paris. And, should you have agreed to it, given you a position as a designer in my atelier. No, no,” he waved away my surprise, “you have talent. I saw what you did with that gown you wore at the dance. You took an ordinary pattern I have seen everywhere, and made it unique, exquisite. You did not succumb to the current fashion of excessive decoration, but kept it simple and let the material tell the story. And you turned the grain of the cloth, so that it ran diagonal, instead of across, making it drape far more interestingly than what might be expected. You have talent, mademoiselle.”

“I used to sketch things, when I had a few minutes. Nothing important,” I admitted. 

“You have a good eye. If you ever choose to enter the design world, please tell me.”

“I never thought of it,” I said honestly. I seemed to be saying that a lot, lately. “And Soubirous is a long way from Paris.”

He waved a large hand. “You might, should you wish, sketch your ideas and send them to me. I will give you full credit, and the proceeds when they are made up and sold. The mail is swift in France, and we also have telephones, so that we may confer.” He smiled at my astonishment and puffed on his cigar. “They would be under the umbrella of my atelier, of course, but they would be yours.”

“But —“ I hesitated, glancing at Fleur.

Fleur sat back, evaluating the hem. “Mademoiselle, Monsieur Florimond never exaggerates about talent. If he sees it in you, it is there. I would be pleased to help your designs come to light, if you wish. Besides,” she said, leaning forward to adjust a recalcitrant straight pin, “every woman should have her own money, even if there is an inheritance or money already. You can always save it for your own children later.”

“I will think about it,” I promised both of them. “When I have sketches, I’ll send them to you.”

“ _Très bon._ And now, if we are done with fitting, we can have that small lunch that I believe Gaston is waiting to serve us.

***

Philippe was the best man, of course, standing solemnly next to Raoul, holding the white box with the rings in it. A glow of happiness surrounded him; the knowledge that he now had nothing to fear had liberated him. I didn’t doubt that he would have some rough times adjusting, but he would be surrounded by people who cared about him, and that would make all the difference.

Florimond stood with me, with Fleur behind him as another witness, should we need one. On Raoul’s side, he had Hippolyte also.

And yes, Raoul had found a small tiara of his mother’s, a silver coronet tipped with small diamonds that sat in my hair as if it had always been there. He gave me his mother’s diamond earrings as well, which I wore, but I chose my own mother’s small pearl necklace to wear, to have something of her with me.

The ceremony was brief, and joyous. Philippe took pride in signing his name on the register as ‘Philippe, Comte de Valmy’ and nobody smiled at this at all. 

Hippolyte had reserved a room in a restaurant in Thonon for the reception, and we feasted and toasted and were filled with joy. Raoul looked at me as if I held the universe for him, and I’m not sure I didn’t do the same with him.

***

We weren’t going to leave for our honeymoon until the next day — neither Raoul nor I wanted to waste our travels by being tired at the start. So we would have our first night in the big suite where I had tried on dresses for Florimond, and drive to Geneva for a flight the following day.

The wedding had been in the late morning; the reception had made an excellent lunch. But there were a few hours in between then and supper, and Hippolyte, full of apologies, had taken Raoul away to sign papers and make official declarations before a judge, in order to arrange for Philippe to live with us without any legal issues. And I had taken the opportunity to go upstairs and pack what I would want for the trip — Raoul assured me that he would buy me whatever I needed wherever we went, but I didn’t want to start out virtually naked. So I put my glorious dress away in the great closet, and went to the smaller room nearby where I had been staying, to fill a suitcase with necessities: a pair of trousers, a skirt or two, some blouses or sweaters, walking shoes…

I heard the footstep in the doorway and without looking up, said, “Done already?”

“Not even begun.” It wasn’t Raoul, who walked so silently on the old carpets, but Bernard. Bernard, who was wanted by the police in connection with the attempts on Philippe, and who had tried to blackmail Leon de Valmy at the end of their misshapen partnership. Bernard, in all black with black leather gloves on his large hands. 

I reached behind me for the bedside table. Hippolyte had shown me the silent alarm button there; they had been installed in every room at Mireille several years ago because of a rash of break-ins in the region, and the alarm went straight to the police. I pushed it as hard as I could.

“They’ll catch you. You can’t get away with —“ I said, all bravado.

He shrugged. “You’ve ruined my life, bitch. Berthe and me, we would have been set forever, except for you. And now Leon is gone and Berthe won’t even see me.”

“I did nothing to you,” I said. Where was Philippe? His room was toward the far end of the hall, part of Hippolyte’s suite. I raised my voice. “Nothing! Everything that is happening comes from what you have done.” And hoped that Philippe would take the cue, and run down the far staircase.

“Yell all you like, there’s nobody here. I made sure of it.” Bernard swaggered toward me, self-confident. “I’m going to give you what you deserve, and take what’s mine”

“What do you think you can take from here? I’m no wealthier than you are.”

“What about the diamonds you’re wearing, Madame? They’re worth a few francs. Enough to get me away from here.”

“Take them and go,” I pulled the diamond earrings from my ears. One of them caught a little; I ignored it. I threw them onto the end of the bed near him.

“After,” he said, walking toward me and bringing his gloved hands up toward my neck. The very symbol of villainy; how trite, the back of my mind nattered.

“You won’t get away with it,” I repeated, backing toward the table and jamming my finger on the alarm for all I was worth. Hippolyte had said the police were three minutes away. I had been counting and we were well past two.

And from the doorway came Philippe’s voice. “Bernard. What are you doing?” Philippe was furious, and his voice, shockingly, was deepened by it, so that he sounded like a smaller version of Leon.

Bernard turned his head away from me, just long enough for me to grab up the bedside lamp and hit him with it, yanking the plug out of the wall. It was heavy brass-bound porcelain, and it struck his shoulder and glanced off the side of his head, knocking him off balance. At that point the door to the suite bathroom opened and Raoul charged in, knocking Bernard to the floor and away from me. They flailed at each other, and someone was cursing loudly. I couldn’t see what was happening — the end of the bed was in the way — but as I reached to grab a poker from the fireplace, Raoul was straddling Bernard, who was face down, and Philippe was yelling, “In here, in here,” as the gendarmes ran up the stairs. 

Suddenly the room was full of police. The gendarmes took control of Bernard, who wasn’t even trying to conceal the bitter and foul language he was spitting. Raoul came to his feet and rushed to me. “You’re all right?” I nodded. He held me close. Hippolyte stood in the hallway, with his hands on Philippe’s shoulders.

Yes, the gendarmes agreed, that was Bernard, who had tried to blackmail Leon de Valmy and who had shot at young Philippe in the woods. The gendarmes were pleased that he had been found and hoped we were well; did we wish to pursue further charges? Hippolyte said firmly that he would wish to charge Bernard with breaking and entering, and perhaps property damage as well. 

“Did he hurt you, Madame?” a young gendarme asked me. 

I pointed at the earrings, still sparkling on the bedspread. “He threatened me, said he would hurt me and steal from here. I offered him the earrings to get him to leave, but he didn’t go.”

“When I came in, he was advancing upon my wife with his hands out, to choke her, so.” Raoul scooped up the earrings and put them into my hands, and I put them back in my ears. “I had to stop him.”

“Of course, M’sieur.” The gendarme made an entry in his notebook.

We would not have to go to the station; Bernard would be taken away and held there, but we could be questioned here in comfort and relative privacy, if we wished. Hippolyte said yes to that, and asked Gaston to bring coffee and sandwiches to the salon. We would be questioned individually in the anteroom to the salon; the sergeant, who had come in after the fight, agreed that there was little need to continue to disturb our wedding day.

Raoul had not let go of me during this entire exchange. Nor had I let go of him; we stood at the center of a whirling world, and the only thing to do was to live in it.

The next half-hour felt like an updated version of the inquiry from two weeks ago. I was questioned, gently and briefly, then Raoul, with Philippe, and then Hippolyte, but despite the shock and the churning emotions I had felt when Bernard readied his attack, I now could feel the final release of the small muscles in my back that had been tight for so long, all the time I had lived in fear for Philippe at Valmy. At last the final danger to us all was gone. Based on Leon de Valmy’s suicide note and testimony from Philippe, Raoul, and myself, Bernard was going away for a very long time, if not permanently.

Philippe came to stand next to me, where I sat in an upholstered side chair at a small escritoire. “Linda! You’re hurt?” He reached out a finger to touch my earlobe. “There is blood?”

I reached up and blotted it with a handkerchief. “It’s nothing, _mon brave_. It tore a little, getting my earring out to throw at Bernard.”

Philippe, who had been so undemonstrative for so long, wrapped his arms tightly around my neck and hugged me, dignity forgotten. “I didn’t want to lose you.” 

I hugged him back. “I didn’t want to be lost, either,” I whispered into his ear, “and thanks to you I am not. You were very wise to stay back where he could not grab you.”

“I remembered what you said when we were escaping from Valmy. And I had a hiding place ready, if he tried to follow me.”

Wise child. “I’m glad you didn’t have to use it.”

“Use what?” Raoul, who had brought me a brandy in a balloon glass, set the drink on the escritoire and put an arm around each of us.

“The hiding place I found.”

“What was it, the laundry chute? Or the dumbwaiter?” Raoul smiled at me. He looked younger, even, than during our wedding, all stresses gone for the moment.

“I’ll show you, later.”

The gendarmes emerged from their conference with Hippolyte, to announce that Bernard would be charged with breaking and entering, attempted murder, assault and attempted assault, and attempted grand theft. No, we would not need to stay in the area; we could leave for our honeymoon. If anything further were needed, we would be contacted. They were grateful that this dangerous man had been captured, and we should go about our lives, and not worry. They wished us a happy wedding day and a joyous marriage.

“So, where is this hiding place of yours, _mon petit_?” Hippolyte asked. “I thought I knew all of the ones that were here; have you by chance discovered something new?”

“I’ll show you,” Philippe said, and led us to a small window in the closet at the far back end of the dressing room for Hippolyte’s suite. It was a small window that swung open onto a low, flattish section of roof. The window was so narrow that nobody older than Philippe would be likely to fit through it. 

“Where does it go?,” I asked. “Wouldn’t you be stuck on the roof then?”

“No." His voice was excited. "There is a rosebush that climbs there, and a — I do not know the word in English — that they climb on.”

“A trellis,” Hippolyte said, reflectively. “There are Gallicas growing up on that side of the villa; they must have been there nearly a century.” He smiled gently at Philippe. “Yes, I see. I shall hope no small and enterprising burglars ever find that window.” Hippolyte smiled warmly at Philippe. “I think we’re going to have interesting times while Linda and Raoul are away.”

“I’ll only go out the window if it’s a matter of life and death,” Philippe promised. “Does Bellevigne have small windows like that?”

“I think there might be one or two,” Raoul said. “We’ll have to go exploring when we’re all there.”

“I’ll stock up on bandages,” I said, and all of them smiled.

***

Our plane was to depart in the afternoon. Over breakfast, in the small dining room, Jeanne brought a small package and handed it to me.

“This was just left for you, Madame. Perhaps it’s a wedding gift?”

“Perhaps.” It didn’t rattle when I shook it gently. “Thank you, Jeanne.”

I had no idea what could be in it; it had enough tape holding it together that it might have been designed to keep the contents from escaping.

“Allow me?” Raoul asked, and I handed it to him. He found scissors in the drawer of a side table and cut through the tape and the brown wrapping paper. Inside was a white box, with the name of one of the antiques firms that I had seen in the region. A small envelope on it bore my name.

“Best wishes upon your marriage, William Blake,” it read.

And then I knew what it must contain.

I opened the box carefully, to reveal a small, perfect porcelain tiger, one paw raised, looking up at me with a feline smile.

“What’s this?” Philippe asked.

“An English tiger, from Mr. Blake. You can read the poem when we come back.”

“Because you prefer tigers to lambs,” said the tiger I’d married, and smiled like the one in my hand.

And that afternoon, our suitcases were packed in the trunk of Raoul's car that was as long as the Queen Mary, and we drove away in the sunshine from the Villa Mirielle toward the airport in Geneva, and into our new life together.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to boxofdelight and tazlet for betaing this!


End file.
